


We Took Ballet

by Ink_stained_quills



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drunk Katsuki Yuuri, Friends to Lovers, M/M, shipping other than the first is super minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ink_stained_quills/pseuds/Ink_stained_quills
Summary: Childhood friend AU: Yuri and Otabek actually connected in that ballet class they took under Yakov (give or take five years).Prove you’re worth my time, those green eyes seem to say. And Otabek finds himself wanting to do just that - prove himself to this tiny child who’s become the favorite of their dance teachers in a few days. So he bends farther, angles his feet, and shudders into a (still subpar, but better than before) split.Yuri judges it ‘not terrible’, and Otabek is pleased. He’s more pleased when their teacher gives him a proud nod. He knows he’s not good at this yet, knows he’s a novice compared to everyone else, but he wants to skate. So he’ll build himself up, no excuses.“Break!” Ms. Carolina calls, waving a water bottle, and goes around the room handing out oranges to eager seven and eight year olds. Instead of accepting the fruit, Yuri stalks back over to Otabek and runs through the positions. He holds fifth for longer than the others. Raises an eyebrow.The unspoken challenge of “Are you going to join me, or not?” runs tense through the air.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Mila Babicheva/Sara Crispino, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Otabek Altin & Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	We Took Ballet

**Author's Note:**

> SO I pushed the ballet classes to five years earlier then they were
> 
> Song: Have I Told You by Matthew Mole

“What’re ya doing?”

Otabek looks up from where he’s attempting a split - in all honesty, a rather pathetic one. “Practicing,” he replies, after debating how to respond. Isn’t that what they’re all doing?

There’s a blond boy standing in front of him, hair just an inch or two longer than is traditional. He’s standing straight, shoulders thrown back like he’s got something to prove, green eyes fixed on Otabek. Soldier’s eyes, he thinks, but he won’t be cowed by a younger kid.

“No duh,” the blond retorts, glare never wavering. “I mean, what kind of shitty split is that supposed to be? My grandmother could do better.”

Otabek wants to say “I’m just starting” or “Who let you swear”, but he pushes these options away for a simple “I’ll get better.” It’s a promise to himself as much as the other boy, who smirks.

“I’m Yuri.” The other boy tilts his head slightly, consideringly, then taps the base of Otabek’s foot. “Angle your foot like this.” Then Yuri’s dropping to the ground beside him, extending his legs in a perfect split, challenging.

Prove you’re worth my time, those green eyes seem to say. And Otabek finds himself wanting to do just that - prove himself to this tiny child who’s become the favorite of their dance teachers in a few days. So he bends farther, angles his feet, and shudders into a (still subpar, but better than before) split.

Yuri judges it ‘not terrible’, and Otabek is pleased. He’s more pleased when their teacher gives him a proud nod. He knows he’s not good at this yet, knows he’s a novice compared to everyone else, but he wants to skate. So he’ll build himself up, no excuses.

“Break!” Ms. Carolina calls, waving a water bottle, and goes around the room handing out oranges to eager seven and eight year olds. Instead of accepting the fruit, Yuri stalks back over to Otabek and runs through the positions. He holds fifth for longer than the others. Raises an eyebrow.

The unspoken challenge of “Are you going to join me, or not?” runs tense through the air.

Otabek wants to catch up more than anything else, in this moment, running through positions with Yuri as fast as he can (he’ll be faster, someday, he’s determined). After the break, they’re both panting slightly. Ms. Carolina eyes them, but continues with the lesson.

By then end, Otabek feels stiffer and yet more accomplished than he has since the start of these lessons. He and Yuri haven’t exchanged words beyond their original conversation, instead choosing the universal language of competition to fuel their interactions. The Russian boy’s grandfather comes to collect him, and Otabek walks over to the pair as they’re starting to leave. 

He’d merely planned on getting his coat, but then Yuri looks over at him. “You’ll be here tomorrow. Work on splits with me.”

It’s not a question, yet not quite a demand. Otabek considers. “I will. We’re friends, right?”

“Guess so.” They shake hands, both smiling slightly, and Yuri’s grandfather laughs.

“You two are the strangest children I’ve ever seen,” he jokes as they leave, and Yuri rolls his eyes but walks close enough to the old man to hold his hand.

The next day they’re stretching even further.

(“Did you hold back yesterday?” Otabek asks, innocently enough if a bit frustrated.

“Hah?” Yuri shouts, insulted, and twists away from him. “Listen here. I never do anything less than my best, so you’ve just gotta keep improving like I do!”

That’s how he learns Yuri Plisetsky is an ever evolving menace to society, because he’s somehow gotten even better in the twelve hours they’ve been apart. Otabek wouldn’t have it any other way. “I will!”)

Yuri’s just like that, apparently. He’s unapologetically better than everyone else, insults the other seven year olds and ten year old Otabek relentlessly, and practices through half the breaks. Somehow, Otabek’s roped into it more often than not, the two of them forcing themselves further and further until, frankly, they’re on a different plane than the others.

“I’m gonna win gold,” Yuri confides in him one day. Though he supposes it’s not really a confession, considering the Russian’s been shouting it from the rooftops since day one, Otabek thinks it sounds just a little more cautious this time. Like Yuri’s going to do it whether Otabek thinks it’s cool or not, but he’d like to have confirmation.

“You’ll have to fight me for it,” Otabek claims, rotating on one leg.

Yuri blinks. “Hell yeah. First juniors -”

“Then the world.” Otabek finishes. They beam at each other, then flex their toes and continue practicing.

~~~

They’re the pride and joy of their ballet teacher.

Except, at eleven and eight, when they aren’t.

“This’ll teach the hip hop losers.” Yuri sneers as he pours curry powder into their water bottles. Otabek’s keeping lookout, peering out the door to the hip hop studio. Though the dancers might share a building, there was no love lost between these groups of classical and modern dancers.

“Shouldn’t have put slime in our slippers,” Otabek agrees amicably. The tiniest twitch of his mouth betrays how he’s actually enjoying this, though the hippies (as they’ve been dubbed, the pair has gotten all the ballet dancers to call them that - much to the chargin of Ms. Caroline) are closer to his age than the other classical dancers.

He takes his eyes off the door for a moment to watch Yuri pick up the bottles, make faces at the ones he doesn’t like, then dribble the spicy power in. His hair untucks slightly from the bun on top of his head while he shakes the waters, whole body involved in the action.

“Back to work, dancers!” The hip hop teacher marches down the hallway, followed by the chatter of her students. “We’ve only got a few weeks left till the competition!”

“Let’s go, Yura!” Otabek hisses, waving Yuri out of the room.

He screws on the cover of the bottle in his hands. “One left!”

The footsteps get closer, and Otabek shifts on his toes. Finally, Yuri shakes the water and sets it down. They dart out of the room and back to their own, just before the hip hop dancers turn the corner. “Mission accomplished,” the blond cheers.

“Mission indeed,” Ms. Caroline says dryly from behind them.

The two boys look at each other, faces pained, then slowly turn to face her. “Hi, Ms. Caroline,” the chorus innocently.

She’s not fooled. “Modern dancers again?” They nod slowly. There’s no use in lying. “Well, then… what did you do?”

“Curry powder in their water bottles.” Otabek answers for both of them. 

Ms. Caroline looks at them sternly for another moment. “What must a ballet dancer do when wronged?”

“Get revenge in a manner befitting a prima ballerina,” the two chant.

“So next time,” Ms. Caroline continues, “be more creative. Perhaps… ribbons. No that I’m endorsing any of this, of course. But it would be foolish to stifle childhood creativity.”

Yuri smirks as she leaves. 

“This is going to go to your head, isn’t it.” sighs Otabek, already anticipating their next prank.

~~~

Otabek is twelve when he has to leave Moscow. Yuri, at nine, is angry (truly angry, not the kind of anger he displays at everything else) and hurt, though he tries not to show it. “Don’t blame me when you show up for Junior Worlds and can’t even do a split properly.”

Despite himself, Otabek laughs. The other boy stiffens and rolls his eyes, both ignoring the fact that he’s sniffling. If anyone pointed it out, Yuri would probably yell at his nose for betraying him. “Yura -”

“Don’t call me that!” Yuri screeches. “You’re leaving, so you lose privileges -”

“Yura,” Otabek repeats, more firmly. “It’s not like we’ll never see each other again. And there is such a thing as modern technology.”

“You suck,” Yuri sulks.

“We’ve got to go!” Otabek’s mother calls, waving him over as she finishes packing the car. “Say goodbye, honey!”

There’s a pause. Otabek and Yuri look at each other, and this time he doesn’t think ‘soldier’s eyes’ but ‘Yuri Plisetsky’s eyes’. He sticks out a hand. “First juniors?”

“... then the world,” Yuri finishes, smiling sadly. Just a tiny one, then he glares to back it up. “C’mon, Beka, you’re gonna be late.”

“Probably.”

~~~

From ages thirteen to fifteen, Otabek bounces from rink to rink. He makes friends, leaves them, stays in contact for a bit before it tapers off. However, Yuri’s always there - a phone call away, though they’ve got to be careful of international call rates. His friend’s twelfth birthday is celebrated without him, but he calls after. (He’s been saving for this call for a while, so they could go even further and see each other’s faces.)

It’s probably odd for childhood friends to be three years apart in age, but they don’t mind. Otabek tells Yuri about the perils of high school (Yuri’s says he’s going to eat his classmates alive, Otabek doesn’t doubt him) and Yuri talks about how skating is going in Moscow (Yuri says it’s a bit boring without his rival there, Otabek doubts a little). 

~~~

At sixteen years old, Otabek gets a call from Yuri in the middle of the night.

“Beka,” he huffs, “I don’t know what to do.”

“What? What’s happening?” Otabek rubs sleep from his eyes and stares at the screen, where the time displayed is one in the morning.

There’s a momentary silence. “Coach Yakov asked me to come train with him. In St. Petersburg.”

“Oh,” Otabek says. Then, “Oh. Yuri, when are you going? Holy shit -”

“I told him I’d think about it.”

“What do you mean, think about it?”

“I just - I want to go. I’ll sell my soul for more opportunities, I’ll further my skating career if my feet fall off doing it, but.” Yuri pauses. “Jesus, what if he’s like some of those coaches that can’t teach, or…”

“Are you nervous?” Otabek asks incredulously. It’s not that it never happens, just… very rarely. “You have no reason to be.”

Yuri growls. “It’ll be weird to leave here.”

“... Moscow isn’t you, you know. It’s not me. We can go to other places, and still skate like we have.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Yuri snaps, but he barks a laugh. “Yeah. I’m going to fucking St. Petersburg, and training under Yakov, and...”

“Fucking St. Petersburg,” Otabek repeats, smiling. “I’ll train just as hard.”

“Aren’t you leaving the junior’s league this coming year?”

“I’m onto the world,” the Kazakhstanian announces. “You’d better catch up soon.”

~~~

Victor Nikiforov is there, too, In St. Petersburg. Training under Yakov, skating for Russia. Otabek is burning with jealousy, and maybe a healthy dose of concern that Yuri will get so far ahead of him that he won’t be able to stand beside him (better yet, on the podium above him. They may be best friends, but they’re still rivals on the ice).

So Yuri trains there when he’s fourteen, and Otabek at seventeen trains in another nameless rink that no one would particularly want as their home base. They still talk, but suddenly Yuri’s busier than ever. Still, they’re both professionals and Yuri wins gold in the junior levels. Otabek claims bronze in the seniors, and the two celebrate afterwards as they’ve done for years.

Except not exactly.

“Yuri!” A girl Yuri had introduced as ‘old hag’ and had introduced herself as Mila dashes over to them. “Have you tried the shrimp? Also, you know the Crispinos? K, so the sister is super hot -”

“Don’t care,” Yuri replies, but Mila’s not easily deterred.

“How about the brother, then?” she offers, and Otabek chokes on his drink. He clears his throat to disguise the laughter that threatens to overtake him at the look on Yuri’s face.

“Disgusting!” the blond cries. “Get out of my sight!”

“She’s not so pretty as my girlfriend, Anya,” Georgi interjects and is instantly ejected from the conversation.

Then Victor comes over, and Otabek stiffens. Yuri looks at him out of the corner of his eye, monitoring (he’s the only one here that can register Otabek’s imperceptible shifts). “Yuri~” he hums. “That third flip was wonderful! Ah - you didn’t tell us you knew Otabek Altin, hmm?”

“‘Cause it’s none of your business.”

Otabek blinks. Yuri’s never mentioned him? Is he supposed to pretend they haven’t been friends since basically the start of their skating careers?

“Besides,” Yuri continues, steadfastly not looking at him, “He’s actually cool, unlike the rest of you.”

Blushing has never been a thing either Yuri or Otabek has done, but for some reason his face feels warm and Yuri’s pinks. “Rude,” Mila scolds, and the topic is forgotten in the wake of a commotion over by the champagne.

“Who’s that?” Georgi wonders as the group turns. There’s a Japanese man Otabek remembers for his spectacular footwork and missed jumps.

“You don’t know who Katsuki Yuuri is?” Yuri hisses. “Have you seen the way he moves his feet during the -” Then he cuts off, grabbing Otabek’s arm. “Beka. I told him he should retire. My one chance to speak with him.”

Otabek laughs under his breath. “We’ve been studying his videos for how long now? Five years?”

“Don’t remind me,” Yuri groans.

“Maybe someone should check on him? He looks kind of - spacey,” Otabek finishes lamely. In truth, Yuuri looks drunk as hell.

“We could do it?” Yuri suggests. “Not that I want to deal with someone who messes up simple jumps, of course, but.”

“We, nothing.” snorts Otabek. “I won’t let you give him a bad first impression of me.”

“Beka!”

And then the classy event breaks apart into something very different.

~~~

Otabek remembers in snatches.

1\. Yuuri challenges Yuri to a dance.

“Yura, I don’t think this is your strong suit,” Otabek calls from the sidelines.

“I swear - was he one of the guys who took hip hop in Moscow?” Yuri grunts. “This is some perverted revenge… classical dancers shouldn’t sully themselves with breakdancing!”

Victor’s clapping to the beat of the music. “Say what you will, but you’re still dancing, Yuri! And losing!”

Otabek lifts his phone to record. “What would Ms. Caroline say?”

Yuri gasps in utter horror.

2\. They watch as Victor basically gets harrassed by Yuuri.

Mila leans over to them. “D’you think he’ll remember this in the morning?”

“Victor or Yuuri?”

“Fair point, Georgi.”

3\. Yuuri’s friend (who they later learn is named Phichit) attempts to stop him from pole dancing with Christophe.

4\. Yuuri’s friend gives up and settles for live streaming to YouTube.

~~~

Now he’s eighteen, it’s Yuri’s first year in the Seniors, and Georgi’s going through a breakup. (One of these things is less relevant, but given how much Georgi complains about it to Yuri and therefore Yuri complains about it to Otabek, it deserves to make the list.)

Also he’s realized that he’s kind of in love with his best friend, but what can you do.

That hardest part about that last detail is probably that when people have crushes and whatnot, they complain to their best friend about it. Which Otabek can’t really do, because see above. It’s not like he’s outwardly easy to read, but Yuri can do it better than most. Which is a problem, because SEE ABOVE.

Time passes all too quickly, and Otabek’s back at his home rink in Kazakhstan. He’s more at ease than he’s been in a while, despite the meteoric fall of Victor Nikiforov into becoming a coach. However, he’s redeemed in the eyes of Yuri and Otabek by being the coach to one Yuuri Katsuki, and Yuri follows him all the way to Japan.

“Hero worship,” Otabek teases, and Yuri snaps, snarls, denies it, then talks about something else ‘Katsudon’ has done today. When the final skate comes, he rides around the city on his motorcycle until he gets an alert from the Russian skater.

“Yuri’s Angels,” he reads aloud. “Beka help. Beka. Beka please show up on your motorcycle like an avenging angel.”

He sends back “K”: because why mince words when they both already know he’ll be there.

Otabek shows up in the nick of time, and the feeling of Yuri’s arms around him as they ride makes him wish he wasn’t wearing a jacket.

They’re eating in a restaurant when most of the competition shows up (Yuri ‘tch’es and Otabek knows he’d rather it just be the two of them as well). Apparently, Victor and Yuuri are engaged. Yuri screams in horror, something about “Old man! You don’t deserve Katsudon!”, and the Kazakhstanian has to restrain him.

~~~

Yuri places first. Yuuri’s second and JJ comes back in the second half (like that meme Gerogi keeps trying to explain), the results making many people cry for many different reasons. “Beka!” Yuri screams, waving his metal. He bites it, almost aggressively, and Otabek feels the urge to remind him he can’t digest metal. “This is what gold looks like. Bite that.”

Mila snorts, loudly, and wraps an arm around Sara Crispino’s neck. Hesitantly, Otabek bites the medal. “Next time,” he says, “This’ll be mine.”

“You’ll have to coordinate your skating outfit to match with silver. Don’t want it to clash.” Yuri replies, smirking.

“Indirect kiss!” Phichit and Chris whisper-scream from the sidelines, making Yuri shriek.

Otabek sighs fondly as Yuri chases the other skaters around, yelling, as they cackle.

~~~

Yuri’s twenty five when Otabek’s twenty eight. “Oh my god,” Yuri screeches, sitting bolt upright in the middle of the night. “It was an indirect kiss.”

“We’re dating,” Otabek reminds him.

Yuri considers this. “Still.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: socially-acceptable-username


End file.
